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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208159">Soft Things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin'>kaeorin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Loki's Lullabies [51]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Avenger Loki (Marvel), Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, F/M, POV Loki (Marvel), Pre-Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:53:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,650</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Loki allow himself to be soft enough to be worthy of you? (Of course we all know he can, but it takes him a while to learn that.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Loki (Marvel)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Loki's Lullabies [51]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>242</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Soft Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is good that there are soft things in the world.</p><p>He likely would have scoffed at the idea when he was younger, when he was surrounded by warriors and a brother who wanted nothing more than to show his worth in the glory of battle. Or worse: he might have decided that the soft things were there to be conquered, to allow the strong and fearsome to prove themselves and seize power. Even as his skills with his mother’s magic grew, Loki had always believed, in the back of his mind, that Thor’s abilities were preferable. After all, it was Thor whom Odin favored.</p><p>But here, on this world, Loki was beginning to come around. In general, he still often caught himself rolling his eyes at Midgardians, at their traditions, at the things they valued. They were small, petty, and could even make him long for the familiarity—though...chill—of the palace in which he’d grown up. Even knowing what he now knew, things in Asgard seemed so much easier, more straight-forward. In childhood disagreements with Thor, they’d fight each other, waging war with childish limbs until one or the other had to call it off.</p><p>He had not known much softness growing up, and certainly had never spared it any thought other than scorn.</p><p>And then you’d come around. You, with your angelic face and your gentle smile and your unwavering determination to get close to him. He hadn’t been particularly kind to you at the start. In truth, you scared him a little. You were far too soft, too delicate. Privately, he was terrified of hurting you. Midgardians were such fragile things anyway, compared to him, and someone as precious as you didn’t stand a chance. </p><p>He hadn’t had the strength to avoid you outright, but he did his best to keep his defenses up. That was when he first learned about the iron that infused your personality. He was prickly towards you at best, offering cool glares and one-word answers each time you put forth an effort to get to know him. Some of the things that he said to you made him cringe inwardly, but you only ever fell back temporarily as though to give him space. You didn’t give up on him. You were not just a wisp of candy floss.</p><p>He caught you training in the gym. He could hear the sounds of a scuffle—the sounds of blows landing solidly on human flesh, the grunting, but also your musical laughter ringing out. He’d stolen a peek from behind a column and watched Barnes slam you down onto a mat. He’d been filled with hot rage, then, and nearly stepped out to defend you, but then you’d pulled on the soldier’s arm, hard, and brought him down beside you. You’d wrestled a bit, each pulling on the other to try to press someone’s back against the mat, and you’d held your own even against the super-soldier. Like many children in Asgard, Loki had grown up all but idolizing the Valkyries, that elite force entrusted with the protection of the kingdom, and watching you fight, albeit with your very-human foibles and weaknesses, put him in mind of those women. You’d pinned Barnes with a fierce snarl and then, when he’d laughed and yielded to you, you’d pulled him to his feet and given him a wide, beaming smile.</p><p>Loki had continued to watch, feeling a bit more like a voyeur now that he knew you were well, as you took a long drink from your bottle of water and patted yourself dry with a towel. On your way out of the gym, you’d passed by Loki, and you’d given him that same soft, quiet smile that you seemed to reserve expressly for him. </p><p>Watching you fight changed some things for him. Now that he’d seen what you could withstand, he had less to fear about you. If you could survive the way those metal fingers had closed around your arm, surely you could survive it if Loki snapped and said something a little too harsh to you. He started looking at you more when you were talking to him. He came to like watching your expressions. You showed your every emotion on your face, it seemed, without fear of ridicule or disdain. Even when the desire to cup your cheeks in his hands, to kiss your forehead as he stroked your cheekbones, made him tear his eyes away from you, you still weren’t put-off from him. </p><p>The first time you fell asleep on him, his heart beat so wildly that it was a wonder it didn’t wake you. It was one of Thor’s movie nights, of course, and none of the others on the team had been willing to take the seat beside Loki on the sofa, but you’d walked in, beamed at him, and promptly settled in beside him. You’d just gotten back from a mission that very afternoon, and, to be honest, Loki had been surprised that you’d showed up here for the movie at all. With the darkness and the slow exposition, you hadn’t lasted long. He was a little more focused on you than on the movie, so he didn’t miss the way you’d yawned quietly, repeatedly, pressing your hand to your mouth to hide it. Then you’d pulled your feet up onto the cushion, folding your legs beneath yourself and turning slightly towards him. </p><p>He’d jumped a bit when he felt you rest your head on his shoulder. You’d only sighed, a soft puff of breath as your body slipped into sleep. You’d been all that he could focus on—the movie be damned—and he’d listened to your peaceful breathing. For a moment or two, he let himself imagine that this was normal. He let himself wonder what it would actually be like if he let himself be soft enough to deserve you.</p><p>When you’d woken up near the end of the movie, you’d apologized profusely, and he’d tried to ignore the loss he felt when you sat up straighter. He didn’t say anything, but had offered you the gentlest smile he could manage and reached out to pat your knee.</p><p>Something changed between you, then. Sort of. You were still largely the same, still wandering the Tower in soft sweaters and fuzzy socks, still sitting sleepy-eyed at the kitchen table nursing your coffee in the mornings, still speaking sweetly to him even on days where he couldn’t let himself look at you. But those days came less often. Bathed in your regard, something in him started to loosen. You started touching him a little more, and he soon began to crave the warmth of your hands on him. </p><p>Your first kiss was practically an accident. </p><p>He’d come back from a mission with Thor, and you were there to greet him. Even as Thor bundled his gear off of the jet, you’d stood there and beamed at him like always, asked how things had gone, if he was okay. When you told him you were glad that he was home, something about that cut through him. You could lay him bare so easily, so innocently. As he’d struggled to find the right response, you’d reached out to take his hands in yours, and then gasped when you felt how cold he was. Even as you’d rubbed your hands over his and babbled about the jets always being too cold, he’d stared dumbly at you, this fierce whirling mass of love and kindness, and then he’d pulled his hands away from yours so he could cup your face in his palms. </p><p>It was everything he’d thought it would be. You’d fallen silent, then, but your eyes were full as you looked up at him. They drew him in. He’d brushed his lips across yours first, terrified that you’d pull away, but you’d only slipped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He’d meant to keep it simple, innocent somehow, but you had parted your lips for him and something else had taken over. He kissed you like he could claim you, like he had any right to want all of you and, rather than letting him overcome or intimidate you, you returned every last demand he offered. The hangar faded out around you, and the other agents nearby, and he allowed himself to focus entirely on the way you felt. The way you tasted. When you whimpered and pressed yourself against him, it was hard to keep from hauling you up into his arms and taking you somewhere more private.</p><p>Things changed between you, but only a little. You still looked at him with big, soft eyes, still smiled at him like he was the sun itself, still touched him with featherlight fingertips. When he took you to bed the first time, he half expected you to shy away from him, hide yourself, but you didn’t. Every last part of you was soft and warm, and sometimes you still trembled when he touched you, but you never simply bent to him. Beyond your sweet voice and cherubic face, there was a spark, a fire, burning wildly and strengthening your spine. It told him that he didn’t need to soften himself to be worthy of you. </p><p>He did it anyway, a little. In the mornings, with golden light creeping through the room and kissing the blankets that covered the both of you, you would wait for him to wake up. When he did, he’d meet your gaze and treasure the slow, lazy smile that stole across your face. He’d reach up to touch your skin, caress your face—take the time to enjoy the sweetness of you before ultimately giving in to his devouring hunger.</p><p>When he did, you dug your nails into his shoulders and laughed happily—until he turned the sound into something somewhat sharper.</p>
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